of long rank grass for a sight of the striped skin,
writhing through the reeds, that we so longed to see,
when the quick, short crack of a rifle away to the
right brought us to a halt, and every one drew a long
breath and turned, gun in hand, in the direction whence
the sound had come. It was Kildare; he had met
his first tiger, and the first also of the hunt.
He had put up the animal not five paces in front of
him, stealing along in the cool grass and hoping to
escape between the elephants, in the cunning way they
often do. He had fired a snap shot too quickly,
inflicting a wound in the flank which only served to
rouse the tiger to madness. With a leap that seemed
to raise its body perpendicularly from the ground,
the gorgeous creature flew into the air and settled
right on the head of Kildare’s elephant, while
the terrified
mahout wound himself round the
howdah. It would have been a trying position
for the oldest sportsman, but to be brought into such
terrific encounter at arm’s length, almost,
at one’s very first experience of the chase,
was a terrible test of nerve. Those who were near
said that in that awful moment Kildare never changed
colour. The elephant plunged wildly in his efforts
to shake off the beast from his head, but Kildare
had seized his second gun the moment he had discharged
the first, and aiming for one second only, as the
tossing head and neck of the tusker brought the gigantic
cat opposite him, fired again. The fearful claws,
driven deep and sure into the thick hide of the poor
elephant, relaxed their hold, the beautiful lithe
limbs straightened by their own perpendicular weight,
and the first prize of the day dropped to the ground
like lead, dead, shot through the head.
A great yell of triumph arose all along the line,
and the little mahout crept cautiously back
from his lurking-place behind the howdah to see if
the coast were clear. Kildare had behaved splendidly,
and shouts of congratulation reached his ears from
all sides. Miss Westonhaugh waved her handkerchief
in token of approbation, every one applauded, and
far away to the left Isaacs, who was in the last howdah,
clapped his hands vigorously, and seat his high clear
voice ringing like a trumpet down the line.
“Well done, Kildare! well done, indeed!”
and his rival’s praise was not the least grateful
to Lord Steepleton on that day. Meanwhile the
shikarries gathered around the fallen beast. It
proved to be a young tigress some eight feet long,
and the clean bright coat showed that she was no man-eater.
So the pad elephant came alongside, to use a nautical
phrase not inappropriate, and kneeling down received
its burden willingly, well knowing that the slain
beauty was one of his deadly foes. The mahout
pronounced the elephant on which Kildare was mounted
able to proceed, and only a few huge drops of blood
marked where the tigress had kept her hold. We
moved on again, beating the jungle, wheeling and doubling
the long line, wherever it seemed likely that some